


darling, speak low

by extasiswings



Series: playground love [4]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Backstory, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Domesticity, Eddie POV, Feelings Realization, Introspection, M/M, Near-Love Confessions, Soft Eddie Diaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: There’s a song stuck in Eddie’s head.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: playground love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696435
Comments: 24
Kudos: 380





	darling, speak low

There’s a song stuck in Eddie’s head. 

It’s not his usual style—it’s quiet and romantic, with a hint of melancholy—but it’s stuck nonetheless. It’s easy to recall the first time he heard it, on an old record while his mother hummed along in the kitchen. The memory is surprisingly vivid for how young he remembers being—his mother swaying lightly while stirring something on the stove, his father coming up behind her and trailing a hand down her spine, their smiles as he pulled her in so they could sway together.

_Speak low, darling, speak low…_

It’s one of the only times he can recall his father being so openly affectionate. With anyone. The rest of the time, he leaned hard into machismo—rigid and unrelenting, distant, dominant. It made for a complicated relationship, one that Eddie has tried very hard not to replicate with Christopher. He uses his words, he tells Christopher he’s loved, they share hugs and kisses, hair ruffles and couch cuddles. 

He wants to be a good dad. He works at it every day and he likes to think he’s pretty successful. 

In his other relationships though, Eddie knows he struggles.

He struggled at sixteen, sneaking out of the house to trade kisses and hand jobs with Billy Gomez under the school bleachers after dark, feeling things he knew he wasn’t supposed to say out loud even if he could name them for himself. He struggled at eighteen, crushing hard on Shannon and dizzy with lust, not thinking anything through—was it love, he wondered later, in the midst of crushing panic caused by a positive pregnancy test, when his father swore and his abuela went for her rosary and he and Shannon were taken to church before either of them could figure out much of anything. He struggled after that, running away to the army, coming back changed, unable to sleep through the night, flinching whenever a car backfired—Shannon didn’t understand that, ran from him as much as she ran from Christopher, and Eddie could never really articulate how he felt about that either. He struggled when she came back as well, unable to decide whether he still loved her or if he just wanted her to stay for Christopher. And then she decided to leave again...and then she died before she could do it voluntarily.

So...Eddie struggles.

He’s not good with words. He’s not good with feelings. 

But, god, he wants to do better.

“Don’t be mad,” Buck says, grabbing Eddie’s hand and pulling him into the garage. “I know I didn’t ask, but I think this could be really good.”

“Well, I can’t be anything if you don’t explain what you’re talking about,” Eddie laughs.

There’s something under a tarp in the corner and Buck walks over to it, looking back at Eddie before whipping the tarp off. It takes Eddie a minute to take it in—the strange contraption with poles and straps and a harness—but then he sees the skateboard at the bottom and loses his breath.

“Eddie?” Buck looks worried, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

“You made this?” Eddie asks, still a little dumbstruck at the sight.

“Yeah, it’s, uh...well, I know you thought skateboarding was probably not in the cards for Christopher, but I did some research and thought maybe with this, as long as we were there supervising and all—it’s probably a bad idea, I should have asked first.”

“You made my son an accessible skateboard,” Eddie says, looking over at his boyfriend. And like a lightning strike, he thinks, _fuck, I love you_. He opens his mouth to say it—he _wants_ to say it, because he’s damn near overwhelmed by how much he feels it, by the rock solid certainty of knowing—but the words stick in his throat before he can. What if Buck doesn’t feel the same? What if it’s too soon? What if saying it would actually ruin everything? What if, what if, what if? 

“Is that okay?” Buck asks quietly, still fidgeting in place. “I know you’re his dad, but I love him, and I just thought—”

Eddie closes the distance in two steps and cuts him off with a kiss. He may not be able to say it out loud, but words aren’t the only tools he has at his disposal—he presses _love_ into Buck’s mouth with his kiss, _stay_ with his hands on Buck’s skin, touching everywhere he can reach. And they don’t say much of anything for a long time. 

The only problem is, once Eddie knows, he can’t forget. He can’t shove down the warmth that spreads through him every time he catches Buck’s eyes in the park when they take Christopher out to skateboard. He can’t stop thinking the words, over and over in a loop, feeling the weight of them on the tip of his tongue when they sit together on the couch or curl up in bed, when he watches Buck in his kitchen, in his house, looking perfectly at home.

_I love you._

Three little words. So why are they so hard to say?

With Shannon, everything was complicated by being wrapped up in war and trauma and abandonment—first his, then hers. By obligation. By distance. 

Buck isn’t complicated. Buck is honest and open and has only ever known this version of Eddie—not a dumbass teenager, but a grown man who has been through a lot, who is, in many ways, still a mess. Buck chose him anyway. He chose Eddie and Christopher, all the mess, all the baggage, with eyes wide open, and Eddie trusts that he won’t run away if and when Eddie ever shades in the background for him.

Buck chose him. And Eddie can’t say the words.

At least not directly.

“What’s this?” Buck asks when Eddie hands him the envelope while loitering in front of Buck’s door after they have dinner out. He can’t stay—he has to go home and relieve the babysitter, but— 

Eddie shrugs and shoves his hands in his back pockets for lack of anything better to do with them, anxiety tightening his chest. “Nothing really, I just...figured it would be easier than you calling me every time you want to come over.”

Buck shakes the envelope into his hand, staring for a moment at the key that falls out. When he doesn’t say anything, Eddie nearly trips over his tongue to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to use it,” he says. “But...you’re not a guest. As far as I’m concerned, you have every right to be here. Whenever you want to be here. So...now you have the option.”

“Thank you,” Buck replies, leaning in to kiss him once, twice—soft, sweet things that make him ache at the loss when Buck pulls back. Buck steps away and fishes his key ring out of his pocket, slipping the new key onto it right next to his own.

“Perfect fit,” he adds quietly, and Eddie tries and fails to say the words again.

“I’ll see you on shift tomorrow?” Eddie asks.

“Of course.”

Another kiss, then Buck heads inside and Eddie exhales heavily before turning and going back to his truck.

He thinks about the song again, whispers of music echoing through his head.

_Will you speak low to me, speak love to me, and soon?_

_Soon_ , he tells himself, turning the key in the ignition with one last glance out the window at Buck’s door. _Soon_.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, I'm just...having...feelings. It was pining introspective Eddie hours today, which meant we were due for a character exploration. Feel free to listen to Kurt Weill's "Speak Low" from _One Touch of Venus_.


End file.
